


Morning Run

by fereldanwench



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-21
Updated: 2014-07-21
Packaged: 2018-02-09 18:37:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1993551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fereldanwench/pseuds/fereldanwench
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A little bit of fluff with a slight undercurrent of angst between Rhiannon Hawke and Cullen. Takes place a few months after Rhiannon comes back from the Deep Roads and starts to settle into her new life in Hightown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning Run

**Author's Note:**

> I debated posting this here because I guess it's kind of spoilery for In the Pursuit of Freedom (which, in spite of my recent lack of updates, is a project I plan on finishing), but I liked it and felt it was worth sharing.

The culture Rhiannon had acquired along with the Hawke estate encouraged rich foods, late nights, and a general lifestyle of indulgence that was making her soft. A little extra squeeze in her corseted gowns and a faint breathlessness during the stroll from the manor to the Chantry was all she needed to resume her runs along Kirkwall’s shore.

Rhiannon panted with each sinking stride into the sand. Her mabari, Rovel, chased after her with a happy bark after a brief investigation into a pile of seaweed a few yards back. She squinted, her imagined finish line only a few paces away, and grunted as she found a final surge of energy and sprinted the last yards out. Hitting her mark, she rolled down on her knees and laid down in the sand, still cool from the lingering morning air.

She closed her eyes, ignoring Rovel’s excited barking, and focused on the slowing rise and fall of her chest.

“You might want to get up, Messere Hawke,” a familiar voice boomed overhead. “There’s a large wave coming.”

Rhiannon peeked one eye open, feeling a mild sting of dripping saltwater from her lashes, and smiled when she saw it was Cullen looming over her. He held out a hand, but she closed her eyes again and waved it away.

“I’ll take it. I couldn’t move right now if an ogre was chasing me.”

A strong wave crashed on shore, and the cool, surging water nearly submerged her completely. A soft moan of bliss hummed in her throat.

As the tide rolled out, she pushed herself up and accepted Cullen’s hand. He tugged on her arm with almost too much force, and she pressed a hand against his chest to steady herself on the rise. His tunic was damp under her palm, his hair especially curly in the sweat and humidity. Rhiannon couldn’t help but luxuriate in the heat radiating from his body and the slight smell of male musk tinged with the metallic fragrance of lyrium.

“I haven’t seen you out here lately.” Cullen released her hand, and she took the appropriate step back.

“Hightown social events tend to run into the wee hours of the morning,” she explained with a wrinkled brow. Rhiannon gave him a wry smile and patted her stomach. Her soaked tunic pressed against the plump flesh. “It’s making me soft. I’m not used to living a life like this. There’s so much… Food. Wine.  _Everything_.”

Rovel interrupted with a bark, drawing Cullen’s attention away from her wet, clinging clothes, and rushed into the water. The hound jumped around in a frantic circle, pawing at the water or something swimming in it.

“I’d guess he isn’t used to it either,” Cullen commented with smile.

They took up a slow pace along the beach, walking close to the break-line of the waves, and pausing whenever Rovel decided something in the water or the dunes were worth probing.

“How is life now that you’ve settled into the old Amell estate?”

Rhiannon bit her bottom lip and watched a flock of gulls fluttering in the horizon.

“Well,” she began. “It’s better than Lowtown. I guess that goes without saying.”

Cullen studied her. “But?”

She sighed and twisted her feet into the damp sand, focusing on the water pooling under her soaked leather boot before looking at him again.

“I guess I just wanted something… simpler,” Rhiannon admitted. She pulled her thick braid over her shoulder and fingered the damp ends. “Mother found the swing of things almost immediately. Going to parties, planning parties, discussing the latest fashion, gossiping—Oh, by the Maker, all the gossiping. I don’t give a nug’s ass what these people do, and that’s all they want to talk about.”

Cullen chuckled, and she allowed a breathy laugh at herself before looking up at the sky, seeing the early morning clouds slowing dissipate into blue.

“Lothering was… Well, simpler. Wake up, make breakfast for the family, tend the farm, visit the tavern. Some people could get too nosy, but mostly everyone just wanted to help each other.”

Rovel committed himself to a new patch of water, and Rhiannon decided she wanted to rest again. She sank into gritty earth and gave a quick tug on the side of Cullen’s trousers, urging him to sit next to her. Cullen acquiesced and eased down beside her, maintaining a distance that teetered between intimate and polite.

“And the estate is huge,” Rhiannon carried on as she unlaced her boots and dug her heels into the wet sand. “Especially for two people.”

“Carver is doing well,” Cullen assured her, also removing his footwear.

“I’m glad.” She smiled at him.

“He’s very skilled. Very devoted to his training. Although he can be a bit…” Cullen trailed off and rubbed his neck.

Rhiannon laughed.

“Carver’s a good kid, but he can be a pain in the ass,” she agreed with a grin.

Rhiannon gazed into the horizon, making out the faint silhouette of the Gallows, and the grin faded.

Another big wave crashed and water rushed up between them. Rhiannon closed her eyes. She soaked in the cool water, the budding heat of the morning sun, the happy barks of Rovel, and, letting her right hand brush against Cullen’s left, their closeness after weeks of detached, public interaction. He moved his thumb against her knuckles, and she looked up at him with longing eyes and parted lips.

“I’m glad Rovel found me this morning,” Cullen said, just loud enough to hear over the sounds of the beach.

“I’ve missed you, too,” Rhiannon replied.

His mouth twitched in a quick smile, and she bit her lip when she saw the pink flush around his neck and ears.

“I know you get invited to most Hightown parties,” Rhiannon said, her tone cautious and kind.

Cullen withdrew his hand and stared out into the water.

“I am usually invited out of a courtesy, not from any desire for nobles to actually host me,” Cullen explained. He rubbed his palms together and then interlocked his fingers. “The few times I have attended at the Knight-Commander’s recommendation have been… Uncomfortable, to put it mildly.”

Rhiannon inhaled deeply and dug her heels into the sand.

“Mother is hosting a party this weekend. I know you’ve been invited. You should come.”

“Your mother inviting me is a prime example of nobles including me on these exclusive lists because they think they must, not because they want me present.”

“Ouch,” Rhiannon gasped in mock disdain. She nudged the point of her elbow into his bicep, winning his gaze once more.

“Mother doesn’t necessarily dislike you. She just holds grudges. For a long time.” Rhiannon gazed in the direction of the Gallows again. “Even with her own children.”

Cullen frowned and ran a hand through his disheveled curls. “That’s not very reassuring.”

Rovel bounded up to them, spraying seawater with each splash of his big paws, and Rhiannon wrinkled her nose when she saw what he was carrying in his mouth: an all but masticated fish, its tail flopping lifelessly in the wind. The hound proudly trotted forward and let the catch plop between Rhiannon and Cullen.

“Oh, gross,” Rhiannon said, affecting a pleased tone so as to not offend her happy mabari. “I hate it when he does this.”

Rovel barked and wagged his tail. Cullen laughed.

“It’s a gift,” he told her, gesturing to the lump of scales and bones.

She wrinkled her nose at him. “Feel free to take it then.”

Rhiannon reached for a nearby piece of driftwood and threw it a few yards away, leading Rovel away from the unwanted present. She picked the dead fish up by the tail, sticking her tongue out in disgust, and tossed it back into the ocean.

"So will you come this weekend?” Rhiannon asked, putting her hands on her hips.

The mabari came rushing back, dropping the stick at her feet. Cullen leaned over to retrieve the hound’s new plaything and stood up next to her, thoughtfully bouncing the wood against his palm.

“I’d really appreciate it if you did,” she added softly. Rovel barked, clearly wanting Cullen to toss the stick again, but Rhiannon playfully interpreted it differently. “See? He wants you to come, too. Don’t you, boy?”

Rovel barked again. He plopped his wagging tail into the sand and lifted a begging paw before giving Cullen a pathetic, pleading stare.

“Are you trying to use your hound’s puppy eyes on me?” Cullen shook his head, but Rhiannon still saw a smile.

“Mine never work on you, so I thought it was worth a shot,” she replied with a wink.

“That’s not true,” he muttered, finally tossing the stick. His admission made Rhiannon’s stomach flutter.

“Is that a yes?” she pushed.

Cullen sighed, looking out into the ocean, the Gallows wholly visible now that the morning haze had cleared. He turned back to Rhiannon, and thumbed a smudge of wet sand off her cheek.

“That’s a yes.”


End file.
